Destination 1974

Chapter 23

| All one needs is a fresh start. |

~***~

A young woman takes a long drag from her cigarette as she watches a man ride by on his bicycle. She blows the smoke off to the side, staring out the large window like it's a human aquarium. The woman's skin glows, her auburn hair shines blood-orange in the sunlight, and her eyes resemble dull gunmetal as she vacantly glares at the people outside.

The woman puts out her cigarette and draws the curtains. She gracefully walks over to the sewing equipment set up on the kitchen table. She turns the dial on the radio until the static clears into The Gaylord's Tell Me You're Mine. She sits down at the table and continues working on the little blue dress shirt.

The front door opens after a few lines of the song, and her eyes flicker up to see her son closing the door. He turns around with books in his arms, and she smiles brightly at him; her sewing is quickly forgotten. "Hey sweet pea, how was your mornin' classes?" she walks over to the kitchen as he slumps into the chair opposite from her's.

"Fine," his stomach grumbles, "how's your sewin' goin', mama?"

"It's going well," she places the cutting board and the knife on the counter, "you're goin' to look mighty fine in that new shirt, darlin'."

He opens his book and she starts cutting up the tomato for his sandwich. The little boy's legs barely reach the floor as he scribbles his pencil on the paper, finishing his homework now instead of after school. His mother's lips curl up as she watches her son from the counter.

Everything is right.

Everything is peaceful.

Then it isn't.

That night after a long day at school, he hesitates at the front door as he hears yet another argument between his parents. He sighs bitterly before trudging around the back of the house and climbing through his window. The boy's stomach churns as he fumbles into his room, and he stares at his door with a quickening heartbeat. His muscles relax when he hears his parents still arguing, completely unaware of his clumsy entrance. The boy curses his window as it refuses to close, and takes a mental note to avoid windows when he's older.

The little boy flops onto his bed, his face buried in his pillow, and he covers himself with his blanket. He perfectly drowns out the arguing down the hall, and he feels his body slowly numb itself. He keeps his eyes closed, and can feel the anchor of sleep taking over his body.

Then his door opens.

He sits up with a jolt as his father storms into his room, flipping on the light switch. "Do you have any idea how worried we were!" the boy lifts an eyebrow as his mother enters from behind with watery eyes, "we need to go, now!" his father continues as he picks up the boy from his bed. He places his son beside his mother and opens all the drawers; the little boy groans.

"Not again," he mumbles as his mother pulls him closer. His father stops packing the clothes for a moment and then lifts his head to face his wife and son.

"I'm sorry, Clyde," he continues packing the bag, "I wish I could give you both a better life."

Clyde sighs, his curly hair flopping into his green-apple eyes. This is the tenth time in the past year that they had to move unexpectedly. Clyde never had a chance to make any friends, and he never had a chance to feel settled and safe.

Clyde loathes his parents because of it.

Everything goes by in a blur as they hurry out of their home. Clyde's father packs the truck with a few essentials and then grabs his gun. He hands it over to Clyde, and then grabs two other guns out of the closet; one for him, and the other for his wife. Clyde stares at the pistol in his tiny hands, feeling his stomach anchored to the floor below his numb feet. For a brief moment, he points the gun towards his chest, but as he watches his parents, he lowers the pistol.